The Onset Of Autumn
by Eternal Rift
Summary: Starts before chapter A Fitting Epitaph, in "Ilirea". Eragon may have to come to terms with losing Arya, and Arya has to come to terms with the possibility of losing everything. Getting progressively darker. Some chapters will be short, some much longer. Now being updated once again, some of the earlier chapters may get a rewrite soon (especially chapter one!)
1. A Knife By Dusklight

This is designed to fit in just before the A Fitting Epitaph chapter in Inheritance, and will of course more likely lean towards an alternate future, however for the time being it is simply a small piece which someone I know suggested I write, as they wished for me, oddly enough, to kill Arya.

Usual disclaimer; more or less everything owned by Paolini.

She walked slowly but gracefully down a darkened back street near the centre of Ilirea from the tower where they had been debating to the gate. There were no people here, as the night began to reign; all hiding from the invaders, or all rejoicing for the death of their king, or all dead. Whether for those reasons or more, the street and the buildings lining it were silent, unlit, and still. The street was narrow but still burdened with a mix of shops and houses.

She had wanted to be alone. Alone with her grief. So many dead, so many injured, and amongst them her Queen, her mother; the one she had for so long shunned. She wished no more than to wind back the past 70 years of her life and relive them. Relive them and this time not run off into the wild. She had been young, carefree and bold. Yet she knew, deep down, that it had been the right decision. If she had not lived in the way that she had, then Galbatorix would still hold his iron fist tight over the land. The past, present and future would all be very different. A solitary tear slid across her cheek.

She froze. Her exceptional hearing had picked up a noise; a rustle of cloth so soft she could have been imagining. Then another noise. She drew the sword at her belt and spun round to face whatever it was behind her, and found her blade to blade with a cloaked figure, shadowed by the building. For a split instant his eyes gleamed in the low light, and neither of them moved, then his hand faltered and her blow continued across his chest.

The cloak tore, and he was forced back, but he did not seem to be disturbed by the blow and instead attempted to slash at her exposed arm. She parried the blow and continued with her thrust, the sword sticking in her assailants lower chest. He gurgled, but made no other noise, and ignoring the blade passing straight through his body he pulled her closer by the neck, then punched into her abdomen with the dagger.

At the last instant, she realised she had not refreshed her wards, warn out during the battle. She cursed herself for making a stupid mistake, for underestimating an assassin who's master was dead, and for not crying out for help. Her tendrils of though clutched at those individuals she could reach; Eragon and Saphira, Lord Dathedr and other Elves with him, Angela, and several werecats.

Before she could pass on any information, before she could cry for help, or do anything, the knife sunk home.

She gasped at the pain and her vision blurred. She tried to focus on the ground but couldn't, and realised she was kneeling on the paving and the blurs of red in the gaps must be her own blood. She repeatedly tried to gain focus, each time seeing more blurred blood, not all her own she realised as she identified the shape in front of her as the assassin, face down. She blacked out again, and then someone was there, someone shouting. Each time she focused, there were more people. There was more noise. Someone who's touch she recognised was trying to gain entry to her head, someone was holding her, someone was screaming. Then she was on her back, and it became easier to focus, thought still impossible to see things further away than a few meters, through a blur of tears and stars.

In front of her knelt Eragon, saying words she could not quite hear, and behind him a mottled blue mass which she guessed was Saphira. To Eragon's side were several elves including Blogharm and Dathedr. Some other humans were crowded around, many who she did not recognise.

She felt a flow of energy and it became easier to see, to hear, to move. She opened her mouth to speak, but only managed a pained moan as several people pressed hard on her wound. She tried again, this time managing "How long have I lain here?" in a pained, weak voice.

"A few minutes, no more than five. Stay still, I'm trying to stop the bleeding. I can't heal the wound for some reason." Eragon's voiced echoed in her head.

He and others seemed to become increasingly desperate. There was more blood. She caught snatches of conversation; enchanted dagger, internal bleeding, huge blood loss… In the corner of her vision, Blodgharm looked at the other elves and shook his head slowly.

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Blodgharm, if I'm going to die then at least have the courtesy to tell me." She managed.

"I apologise, Your Majesty." She waved her hand weakly.

"I am only jesting. Please, where is Lord Dathedr…" she managed.

"I am here, Arya." He spoke, grasping her cool hand. "I am here. We cannot remove the dagger. We cannot heal the wound. It lashes out with lightning at those who do. We cannot do anything."

"Then do nothing. I have achieved what I have set out to do. The King is dead, is he not? Our people… my people will look towards you to lead them. You know that. They will choose you as the start of a new line. You have my support." The lord nodded in understanding.

During the discussion, Eragon and several of the other elves had been arguing heatedly. He knelt next to her, spoke once in the ancient language, Forgive me, then yanked the dagger from her body.

She gasped as the knife pulled from the wound and a fresh wave of pain assailed her, the adrenaline in her veins almost used up. Eragon jolted his arm and threw the weapon down the street, sparks flying as it skidded along the stones. He shook his hand and groaned, and Saphira hissed.

He leant over her face and spoke again. "I'm going to try and heal the wound again."

Seemingly distracted, she frowned then said "Would now be a cruel time to say I have grown to love you?" He sobbed slightly.

"Yes. Yes actually. But… if it's true then be cruel." She smiled.

"Fate is cruel. Goodbye Eragon. Goodbye Saphira." She spoke, and then smiled.

He placed a hand on her heart. The slow erratic beating was struggling to pump the remaining blood round her body. He poured energy into her and nothing changed. She seemed to laugh slightly. Then, with a final breath, her head lolled back, and her eyes grew lustreless. Her heart stopped. And his broke.

Hope you enjoyed that. I question the sanity of the person who wanted me to write it too, but I did it anyway and it was quite fun. I've got a second part planned out too… so…


	2. Magic, The Solution And The Problem

There was nothing, and then there was white; an undisturbed plane of nothing stretching across space.

Arya did nothing but breathe for several minutes, trying to bring the white into focus. Confused, she tried to fathom where she was and what had gone missing from her memory. Her mind refused to function properly, her brain concentrating on the white and nothing else. No, shutting out everything else.

She tried to move, and suddenly the world made sense. The white expanse formed a ceiling, unadorned but well painted with no visible variation of shade. Gradually her senses returned. Her sight became clearer. Her breathing sounded in her own ears; weak, faltering and desperate.

Then she comprehended the pain, and the memory came rushing back. She jolted and heard a surprised cry. She attempted to tilt her head to see, and Angela's concerned face came into view, along with those of multiple healers both human elven, and Eragon, all clustered around the foot of her bed.

"Don't move." Muttered Eragon, pushing her forehead gently but firmly, back onto a soft pillow. "Don't try to speak, just stay there. We… we didn't expect you to awake. Not after your current condition."

She was about to reply, ignoring his request for her to not talk, when the pain intensified once again, and she twitched uncontrollably. The memories she attempted to pin down eluded her a few more times, but gradually she came to remember what had happened. Still confused, she managed to speak again.

"I… I should be dead. Am I not dead?" she gasped. Angela snorted slightly.

"You were dead, in a way, for a short while. Now please, shut up and try to stop moving." She pulled a wry face. "Sorry, but I'm trying to stitch you up as best I can."

Stitches? What was wrong with magic? Why had they not healed her? Why was she not dead, and why did she feel so weak? She succumbed to another bout of agony from above her hip, this time managing not to move too much, before it resided again to the underlying ache it had been before, a feeling like she'd been kicked in the side by a horse.

"That's the last one. Chances are it won't manage to hold. Don't try to move too much, don't sit up, don't under any circumstance scratch or touch the wound. In fact, it would be better if you just tried to get back to sleep."

"I'd prefer an explanation." She managed, horrified at the weakness in her own voice. Angela sighed.

"Don't listen to me then, I don't know… the lengths I go too… if you die, on your head be it…" she muttered, become less and less audible as she left the room. One by one, most of the healers followed her, taking it as their cue to leave.

"Don't mind her. She's… not having a fun day, let us say. There are still many wounded from the battle who have not recovered. Most of the healers have been working non-stop now for some time, including me."

"You probably want me to explain why you're not dead, and what… you can expect to happen now." She indicated that this was so.

"I do not know how much you can remember of the stabbing. You were probably delirious, you lost so much blood, but you seem to remember at least understanding that you were going to die. Effectively, you did. Your heart stopped, for a time. You had not the energy to keep it beating. You had little blood left for it to pump. You are very weak, and will remain so for some time, even if the wound begins to heal. You should not expect to be up and walking within a weak."

"You still have not answered why I did not remain dead." She noted.

"I am trying to word it without sound like I'm bragging." He replied, with a slight smile. "I used the enchantment on the knife, the very dagger which brought you down. By lifting it by the blade, I could avoid the shock the handle was cursed with, seemingly to discourage the removal of the weapon. I do not know. I only know that by using the shock to restart your heart, a phenomenon you will no doubt be aware of, within a very short time of your heart failing, I was able to bring you back."

"I have read accounts of similar events, although it is still not fully understood even by elvish medicine, it is most commonly believed that the very same property of lightning in some way causes the heart to beat. I must say I… I'm not quite sure what to say. I take it thank you sounds a little pathetic." She responded, grateful that focusing on the conversation took away the pain from the forefront of her mind.

"I did not do it for the praise, Arya. You know that. To lose you would have destroyed me. Though I still like to think I would have done the same for everyone. Enough blood had already been spilled that day. We are at least lucky you succeeded in killing your attacker. It has given us some information to go on, and indeed several other attacks have been carried out, none successful."

"On the subject of the weapon… it carries and enchantment that I nor the elves understand. I doubt you would fathom it either. There may be those who understood it that are now beyond our reach. I know for certain that Glaedr knows nothing of it as Saphira and I have conversed with him long on the subject. But we know this from our observations; it seemingly cannot be destroyed. The power of lightning lashes at those who attempt to pick it up by the handle. The enchantment upon it is hidden, and the enchantment it has caused to you is also hidden. Your wound is cursed. Attempts to heal it with magic did nothing and seemed to cause you only to grow weaker. I can only assume that energy resides in the stone in the pommel of the weapon, but that would not explain why the curse still ails you; I attempted to take the dagger far from here and Angela reported your condition unchanged."

"We have been able to do very little. The wound is narrow but deep, and we have…" here he faltered.

"What? Tell me. Tell me the extent of my injuries and leave out no information. I do not wish to be left in the dark." She spoke urgently though still weakly. He nodded then continued.

"The wound had to be cauterised then sewn to stop the bleeding. I have had to enchant Aren to provide the energy to keep your heart functioning, do not remove it from your finger. You are extremely lucky that the knife touched no organs; if it had done you would surely have died of the loss of some bodily function. As it is, it's chipped part of your hip too. It looks ugly, for lack of a better word, and is the kind of injury most would not survive from without the aid of magic. You must understand, Arya, that we have done everything we can. Until we find some way to remove the magic that influences the wound, we cannot heal it. Hopefully we can then proceed to heal you back to as you were before with magic. In the mean time, we simply need to hope the wound does not get infected."

There were several moments of silence as this sunk in._ Maybe I was fated to die after all, no matter how hard others try to stop it happening. It is a strange thought that you can fall when you seem to have just achieved your victory. _She winced as the pain pulsed. A slight involuntary spasm caused her leg to jerk, and her hip exploded with agony. She gasped a deep breath and bit down on her lip, drawing blood. Eragon averted his eyes, then apologised.

"It hurts me to see you in so much pain. I can remove some of it for you. I was going to do it at first but… the other healers advised against it. The lack of feeling could have caused you to slip further asleep."

"I understand." She replied. "It would not do good to remove the pain now. I would not be aware of if I damaged myself. No, keep it as it should be. It reassures me to know that if I injure myself further I shall at least be aware."

There were several more minutes of silence, which Saphira broke. To Eragon's surprise she referred to Arya as "little one", the epithet she usually reserved exclusively for him. He smiled.

_Little one, you are greatly injured. But you are strong enough to pull through. You have shown this. You may use my strength whenever I am nearby; you need it more than I. I would not see your condition worsen, Eragon would not shut up about you if you died. _She finished, with a slight mental smile.

Arya smiled and thanked Saphira, and for the first time since her waking, she twisted slightly to properly examine Eragon.

"You look terrible." She simply stated.

"Aye. I've not had time to clean myself up after spending the night running round cleaning up other peoples' mess… Most of this is dry blood." He acknowledged. "But that splatter there" he gestured to the arm of his tunic "you awoke briefly and vomited slightly when I managed to get your heart started again." He seemed to find this amusing. Arya simply cringed. She breathed in again.

"You smell of death." She teased.

"Well, that is unfortunately to be expected."

He lingered for a few minutes more and they conversed on a few small, nonessential matters, before he announced he had to leave. He apologised for leaving her on her own and promised he would return to check up on her when his duties permitted.

"Nasuada is going to be keeping me busy for months I fear, she already has plans for sending me to the other end of Alagaesia and back again. I think she will come to see you later, I will suggest it to her when I see her now… you need company. I will see if I can find anyone else who wouldn't mind keeping an eye on you." He bade her farewell in the ancient language, then left.

She sighed, aware that she had a long and painful time ahead of her, and saddened that he had left so soon.

_He is not the Eragon I knew when I first met. _She thought. _He is not the Eragon I knew only a week, nay, 2 days ago. In the midst of so much pain and suffering, he takes it his own duty to care for others. He ignores his own suffering and strives to please those around him. _She thought on this for a few minutes. _No. He has not changed, _she surmised, _only my perception of him. _

And with this, she felt a new feeling. A feeling that confused her, but one that eventually she decided could only mean one thing.

A tear jumped to her eye. _But after what I've said in the past… I do not think I could ever tell him. He would never forgive me._ She began to cry gently, and drifted into uncomfortable dreams of stabbing pain, of dark men in dark streets, and of the glint of steel by the dying lights of dusk.

**Yeah, I never could kill her. It's too harsh. This was my plan all along! It ended up more of a dialogue chapter than I expected, but I still enjoyed writing it. Also, she can't remember she's already told him, oh the amusement! :D**


	3. Pain of Body, Pain of Soul

She awoke with a start, to talking outside the door to the room. The light from the window suggested she had slept maybe only an hour, and that it was nearing noon. Despite her hearing, she could not hear the words being spoken and could make very little of the voices which spoke them, although one was quieter than the others.

She tried to reach out with her mind towards them, but could barely muster the strength to sense their existence. Pulling her consciousness back to her own body, she panted with exertion. _What is wrong with me? I am so weak!_ She groaned as the door opened and the talking became louder. Her head felt like she had consumed too much alcohol the previous night, though the truth was indeed worse.

She was surprised to see that her visitor was none other than Nasuada, who seemed herself to be tired. She walked swiftly over to where Arya lay and smiled sadly.

"How do you feel?" she asked sincerely.

"Like I have been impaled through the side with spear then ducked in a barrel of Dwarven mead."

"At least you are awake. It's more than any of us hoped. And at least the wound is not outright fatal."

"I am as surprised as you are, it seems. I must admit, I do not know exactly where I am. Where is this building?"

"It's the villa of a prominent merchant, in one of the more upmarket areas of the city. The King suspected him of aiding the Varden but could not prove anything, and as a result he forced the poor man and his family to remain under house arrest at all times. It seems he was capable of some mercy to his subjects." She spoke bitterly. "Released from his bonds, he and his family have gone to visit relatives they have not spoken to in over 10 years, and he has given us his substantial property out of the kindness of his heart, to use as a hospital while he is gone. Do not worry; you are guarded at all times. Too many of our men are here. There are more wounded than anyone expected." She seemed to collapse inwardly, and sighed. Arya noted this and replied.

"You seem almost as tired as I; I assume you have been busy with your duties, your majesty?" She spoke in a way to show her respect for the new Queen, but Nasuada found it awkward.

"Please, do not treat me such. I came here as a friend, not simply on state business. Do you think you mean so little to me?" She seemed mildly offended.

"I was speaking truthfully. You have earned my respect, daughter of Ajihad, and it felt only right for me to address you as any of your subjects see fit. I am pleased you have come to visit me." Admitted Arya, her voice slowly growing fainter.

"We are equals now, Arya." Replied Nasuada. "But nevertheless, you honour me with your words."

"We are not equals, Nasuada. I am not Queen." Nasuada was about to interrupt but Arya halted her. "Yes, many of the elves have treated me so since my mother's death, and especially while I have lain here. I can assure you, it is not certain, however. Elven politics is a subject one could not master without a lifetime of study. An elven lifetime, that is." She added, with a hint of a smile.

"I may not become Queen. Many of my race, it appears, would be happy to see me continue on from my mother, but it is what the elders think, those who have the most knowledge, wisdom, and experience, that really matter. Treating me as Queen at the present is a gesture courtesy for my loss and my injury. I do not even know if I wish to take my mother's place… I never dreamed of this happening. Even after losing my father, I never dreamed of one day being alone. For I am alone, Nasuada. I have little friends among my own race; I have been absent too long. And among the races I have travelled with, few have deigned to accept me as a friend."

"What of Eragon? He would follow you blindly, you know that. Is he not a friend?" Replied Nasuada with a raised eyebrow. Arya smiled weakly and was about to reply when she was interrupted.

"Saphira told me what you told him, although I have not spoken to him of it. It had such an effect on him that I asked Saphira what had been said and was surprised when she acquiesced, to say the least."

Arya blinked.

"What? When I said _what_?"

Nasuada grinned.

"Do not feign ignorance; you cannot fool me. You told him what he wanted to hear, but you told him it because it was the truth. Get well soon, Arya, for all our sakes. You are needed. I must depart, the bells toll noon and I cannot afford to be late. Goodbye." And, leaving Arya dumbstruck, she walked from the room.

For several minutes, Arya contemplated Nasuada's words, and desperately tired to remember anything she could have told Eragon which would fit. She could think of only one thing that fitted what Nasuada had told her. Only one thing which made sense but had to the best of her knowledge remained unsaid, and had done since she had first realised.

She recalled when her feelings had begun to waver. When what she had so longer believed and told him began to become questionable. She thought of the night by the campfire on the way back from Helgrind, and how he elicited the reaction she gave. How her tears had run freely when she told him of Faolin.

She remembered when Oromis was slain, and she had cried again. He had held her in his arms and consoled her, and the world had narrowed to a single point, leaving only her, him, Saphira, and their combined grief.

But at the forefront of her memory was the night Nasuada had been taken; the night Thorn and Murtagh had attacked the camp; the night that she and Eragon had abandoned themselves to the elven liqueur in memory of Wyrden.

It was that night, she had later decided, that things _changed_. It was that night when she realised she was more comfortable among Eragon's company than any other's, and that she could speak to him without worry, for she knew he was kind and reasoning.

She had little memory of that night, but doubted that she had told him her feelings, for she had understood very little of them herself. She had no idea, then, whether she had understood Nasuada correctly, or if she had misinterpreted the meaning, knowing how very different there races could sometimes be.

She resigned herself to raise the subject with Nasuada again, and should that not provide any insight, to dare to question Eragon.

Time passed slowly as she lay considering her past and her future. She suffered from occasional blasts of pain, often when she moved or stretched awkwardly, and her involuntary reactions and jerks often caused more pain, in one circumstance leading to a feedback loop of pain until, panting, damp with sweat and clutching at her side, she collapsed limply no longer having the energy to even feel pain.

Unbidden, memories entered her mind as she became aware again. Memories of the journey to Du Weldenvarden with Eragon, in which he writhed on the ground in agony, his back burning, and Saphira standing over him trying valiantly to comfort him and take away his pain. What if the dagger she had been stabbed with was something of Durza's doing, or what if it was simply a similar effect as the shade's sword because it had been a favourite torture of the King, something he could take pleasure in, seeing his enemies writhe and scream for mercy, long after any wound had been inflicted.

She glanced up as someone entered the room again, this time one of the spellcasters who had been sent to protect Eragon. She greeted Arya with reverence and respect and enquired as to her condition, as well as checking the wound. Arya, unable to sit up without extreme pain, had therefore been incapable of viewing the wound up to now and didn't know what to expect when the elf invited her to view it through her eyes.

The result sickened her. The skin at the entry point of the dagger was white and glossy; the colour of a corpse, and the flesh was heavily swollen and hot to touch. The swelling continued down the side of her hip, suggesting a fracture or similar. The muscle at the site of the wound seemed to be torn and certain areas of her hip, the left side of her lower abdomen and her upper thigh seemed to not be able to sense her own hands. Most worryingly of all, tendrils of violent purple and green seemed to be creeping across her skin following her veins, and fading to white where they met the swollen wound.

"Is it infected? I have never seen anything like it before." Panic crept into her voice.

"We know nothing." The elf replied with solemn eyes, then left a meal on a tray, and left.

**Oh dear. That sounds nasty! Mainly just another filler chapter and showing the extent of her feelings. She's beginning to realise now that she's not changed and neither has anyone else, only perceptions.**


	4. Morning Mourning

She was haunted as she slept. A sunset and the silhouette of a man, a dagger, pain and blood. The same story, the same nightmare, repeated over and over like time had broken. The same situation. One that she'd experienced before so recently, so painfully, and yet here it was in her dreams _different_. It was not the same place, nor did the shadow seem like the same person. It was, however, the same knife.

The strangest thing was her knowledge of what was passing; she knew it was a dream. Right from the beginning she was aware she was dreaming, that it wasn't real. She did not feel the nightmare, nor hear it; the silence only adding to the suspense. But she saw it as clearly as if with her own eyes. And try as she might, there was no escape. No respite.

When she'd almost abandoned herself to insanity, to a looping dream future of death, she jolted back to awareness gasping and shivering, the room feeling deathly cold. The light was dim and had the tone of a sunset. Her head hung over the edge of the bed for a minute as she tried to control her insides, blood pounding in her ears. She performed some strange mixture of a cough and a retch, then groaned.

"Are you going to be all right?" She jolted and angled her neck, noticing the chair to the side of where the window was. Eragon sat there, a look of concern on his face, and yet at the same time his arms folded almost casually.

"How long have you been there?" she croaked.

"No more than an hour. I didn't wish to wake you, sleep will do you good. Saphira and I shall be away for a week, maybe slightly more, and I thought you might appreciate talking with me one last time before we leave." She nodded, glad that he had not left without telling her.

"How long until sunset?" She noticed he smiled at this.

"Hours." He spoke, his grin widening. "It's almost sunrise. You slept a good 15 hours or so, and you needed it. You're very weak and it'll take a good while for your body to get back to its normal strength."

"I fear that my strength will be the easier step." She sighed. "I've been wondering what the future holds for me if I can never be healed. I would die sooner than spend my life bedridden and injured. This wound, this injury that nobody can explain, it scares me Eragon. It scares me in a way I have not been scared before. I have feared for my life before, I have feared for the safety of those I know before, but never have I had such a sense of eternal suffering. To know that I may lie here for ever, or until it kills me, and that I should spend the last days of my life selfishly crying at my own misfortune. I feel so helpless and so weak."

"You should not be ashamed! There's nothing you can do, nothing you could have done! You will be fine, Arya, I promise you that. I would bet my own life that you will be whole once again, because I would sacrifice myself to heal you if I knew the way. You're right; nobody does know what is wrong with you. But I intend to find out, and to find a way to remove this curse from you. You are not weak. You are so very strong."

She smiled and attempted to open her mouth, but her face contorted into a grimace of pain. She threw the blanket off her body and lifted her shirt clutching at her side and rolling. For several seconds, pain consumed her, and then it began to fade. She gasped and removed her hands from the injury. Eragon cursed, and she looked up at him, a questioning look on her face.

"It's looks worse. Much worse than a day ago." He whispered, seemingly dreading his own words. She wished desperately to turn the conversation from her, from her own weakness. She waited an appropriate time, then asked him of his upcoming journey.

"Various places. We're required to use The Word to remove the King's hold over his servants, and to give this new state a semblance of integrity and stability. If the population know they are free and see those who have liberated them, it may lend strength, or so Nasuada seems to believe. I personally wish no more than to rest, and I would much rather stay here where I can keep an eye on you..."

"But duty calls." She finished.

"Aye. Duty calls and it won't stop calling for a very long time."

He produced a bundle from behind the chair, and revealed it to be a pair of flowers, seemingly an exact copy of the Black Morning Glory. She gasped.

"Where did you find these!" she smiled, smelling the plant's blossom.

"In the gardens." He raised a hand. "Don't ask me how they got there, I don't know. But I recognised them, and thought they may please you and comfort you. I remember what you said about the gardens at the hall, about how you envision yourself there when the weight of the world and the bloodshed that has surrounded you gets too much. While you're here I thought it might be good to have something to remember home by. And those you have lost." Arya smiled grimly and was silent for a few moments, then replied.

"I hate myself because of her death." He was shocked by her strong reaction.

"You blame yourself?" he asked, incredulous.

"No! Of course not. But I do blame myself for our _past_. For the time we spent apart, decades upon decades. I can't help but wonder if I made a mistake by leaving. By how I acted around her. By how I shunned her even when she seemed to have forgiven me. It tears me apart to think that she's gone, and that she'll never be back, and that the time I could have had with her has passed. I made the wrong choice."

"We've both lost people, Arya." He squeezed her hand, a curious expression of remembrance and loss on his face. "We've both lost more than anyone should endure. Everyone in this conflict has."

"Yes, I- I apologise for…" she trailed off, unsure of how to word what she was trying to say. "Sometimes I forget what others have lost. You've lost more than me, I must remember that." She laid the flowers in her hand on the small table at the side of the bed, where the first rays of morning sun illuminated motes of dust.

"Before I forget, there is something I need to ask of you. My memory has fail-"

"Yes. Yes you did." He intercepted, correctly guessing what she'd shifted the subject of conversation to.

"Ah. Then know this, I am unsure of my true feelings. Please do not hold me to the delirious words I spoke as I slipped from this world. I am sorry, Eragon, but I shall have to think on the subject much."

"I understand totally, and would not push you in to anything." He replied cordially. His heart wished for him to shout, to argue, but his mind recognised it as foolish, and wished only to keep Arya as the close friend she'd become. He spoke of his thoughts. "I hope that we can remain friends, as we have in the past, and not let this come between us." She smiled at him.

"I hope for that too. Many of the things we have achieved we have done so together, after all. No, it would do badly for the land as a whole should be fall out over something as petty." She replied.

"My suggestion would be we wipe the slate clean; both of us put the things we have said behind us. And the hurts we have caused. Then, we can… see where that takes us, I suppose."

"I agree." She grasped his hand. "It will be so. You have grown wise, it seems. You seem different."

"To me I seem much the same. You seem different though."

"For the first time in decades I find myself with no duties, and unable to do anything anyway." She sighed. "If you intended to leave early, then you are going to be running late. I have no desire to get rid of you, don't get me wrong." She raised one corner of her mouth. "But as you said; Duty calls."

"Then I shall wake Saphira and leave. Be well. May the stars watch over you while I'm away, and may your illness deal you no harm."

"And may you be safe in your endeavours, Eragon. Be careful. People will be after you."

With a grimace and a slight bow, he left the room quietly. She felt better for having discussed their relationship, but was still haunted by the nightmares of the night, their impact too great for her to want to discuss them with him. She sighed again, resigning herself to more days of discomfort and nights of fear, but soon was once again enveloped in deep sleep.

**Apologies for a bit of a delay. Got half the next chapter on the go too. This is the turning point really, from now on the slow start is coming to an end to be replaced with a bit more speed and action. We'll be seeing what the significance of these nightmares are, along with the nature of the illness and the enemy she's fighting unknowingly. **


	5. The Man Who Killed You

More than a week had passed, but the pain grew no less. Soon it became apparent that the bone was merely scratched at worse, and it became easier for Arya to use her leg. At the same time, however, the insidious and unidentifiable stain spread from the wound. She found she could quite easily stand and walk now, at the expense of not actually feeling anything in her left leg and much of the left side of her abdomen. There was only one point of feeling, one point of pain, at the wound itself.

In the morning, she would stand at the window and watch the sun rise. It had become a ritual, a quiet time of reflection and emotional control. Just as the gold and amber glow filled the clear sky with a new dawn, clearing away the darkness of night, she let the light clear the shadows which had haunted her so.

The nightmares had continued.

At first they had been the same; repetitive and sinister, but gradually they became more real. One night she realised for the first time that she could hear the dream. The wind, gently caressing the grass and leaves, a final chorus of birdsong before night, and the hooded figure who spoke for the first time; "Trust me."

But then the pain was real. The screaming was real. She would awake, convinced that she would find warm blood running over her hands and a knife buried in her. Daily she became wearier, from sleepless nights and bursts of pain. She attempted to find solace in the few she knew well enough to discuss the dreams with, but with little success; everyone understood that she was unwell, and that she was grieving, and they all told her that she'd get over it in time. But she knew she wouldn't.

She reflected once more over the past few days as the sun began to climb higher into the sky. The city began to move with life, like a beehive after winter, as the people began to slowly rebuild their lives. The fields around the city were being re-sown, the walls repaired, the homes and shops damaged rebuilt, the dead buried. The various armies of the rebellion had each lent a hand in helping to alleviate some of the damage done, and try to prepare the citizens of the new empire for a life without tyranny.

Nasuada had proven herself a strong figure to lead them to a new life. She'd already instigated various treaties of peace and trade between the different races, and drawn up plans to help repair the economy of the country, involving the maintenance of the larger roads. She wished to pave the main trade routes and make them wide, connecting the major cities with arteries of stone capable of transporting wagon trains and similar. She wanted to see a time when a man in Kuasta could travel to Aberon, with no worries of the road petering out somewhere in between.

As interim ruler, Arya had already agreed to many of these terms and deals, and she too wished for the day when humans, dwarves and elves saw eye to eye and traded openly. It had been too long since men had freely wandered through the lands and cities of the other races, and Galbatorix's suppression of culture had become more evident from what she had seen in the capital. It now fell to the other races to teach humanity their own true history.

She was glad, then, that she once again had purpose and was kept busy. She would spend much of the day talking with her own subjects, and with important humans and dwarves. Once even a prominent Urgal chief had requested an audience with her, which she accepted as she would have any other, and which led to a long discussion of anti-aggression treaties and boundary areas.

She turned from her position at the window at a gentle knock on the door to the room. She had regained much of her strength, even if she was still injured, and had therefore retired the two guards who usually resided outside her room. She felt with her mind and discerned the presence of Eragon. Confused, she spoke for him to enter and turned towards him as he opened the door. He appeared weary and she noticed he was unshaved. She greeted him but he did not respond in kind and simply came to stand next to her at the window and watch the spectacular sunrise coming to a close.

She had known him sufficient time to recognise most of his different moods; the lively and self-improving Eragon, and the surprisingly deep and emotional Eragon. Every now and then he passed her understanding, and she had to re-evaluate her opinions, but that was one of the things she liked him for. He was not a dull static person. She didn't fully understand him, and she understood he had never fully understood her either.

She recognised this Eragon too; deep in thought and reflection. He didn't stay silent out of rudeness or having not heard her greeting, but because he was busy. He was thinking, or conversing with Saphira, on a subject which required attention. Therefore she chose her words in a way she knew she would elicit a response.

"Why?" Simply one word. In reply he drew an item from a pocket in his cloak, wrapped in cloth, and deposited it on the table they stood next to. She moved one of the folds and saw metal underneath, the pulled the whole cloth clear. A hum filled the room as a small dagger vibrated against the wood, disturbed by the removal of the covering.

It was a copy of the dagger she had been stabbed with. The very one she had kept in the room for the past week. She walked away to a chest containing a collection of various items, and shifted through them until she procured her own dagger.

"And I assume you have discovered the means by these weapons are related? And that is why you have returned earlier than expected?" She laid the knife down next to its twin, and turned to him.

"Aye. You assume correctly… I've spoken with Nasuada already. I had trouble convincing her I had made the correct decision. In the end Saphira persuaded her."

"Saphira can indeed be rather _persuasive_ at times." She smiled, and provoked a small chuckle from him.

"Saphira believes that we might have picked up a trail here, one we can follow. One that will turn us from hunted to hunter, if you will."

"And what, pray tell, are we hunting?"

"The man who killed you." He wrapped both of the daggers in cloth and then slid them both into his pocket as he spoke.

"Cease speaking in riddles Eragon, and explain what befell you upon your trip. When last you contacted us you were in Ceunon were you not?" Arya attempted to manoeuvre the conversation in a direction that she wished. She succeeded.

"Four nights ago, in Ceunon, a man was attacked. A shopkeeper not unlike Angela for example; a dealer of arcane items and a user of magic. Someone broke into his shop while he slept, and woke him. He lent his memories to me, and I can confirm not only did he look exactly as the man who attacked you, but he possessed strength and speed beyond that of a natural human." She raised an eyebrow.

"So the man who attempted to assassinate me is a shade, and I was unsuccessful in killing him. You could have notified me of this via magic, it would be foolish to go hunting after a shade, especially in my current condition. You should not have returned here so hastily."

"You should not have drawn conclusions so hastily." He parried. "At first I assumed he was a shade too, except for a few details. He had neither red hair or eyes, nor pointed fangs as teeth. He did not even permanently harm the shopkeeper, simply knocked him unconscious. Interestingly, he stole trinkets containing gems, regardless of their magical properties or not. I do not think he is a shade."

"And he dropped the knife?" she surmised.

"Aye, he fled when he was discovered, fearing that the town guards would be alerted, it would seem. This man is important. I am sure you will agree that we need to find him if he is as dangerous as he seems."

"And you also believe that he is the key to understanding what's wrong with me."

"Exactly. I take it you're still suffering from the nightmares you told me about?"

"They seem to wax and wane, though overall they grow worse. I am at least not totally useless any more." She motioned at her left leg.

Eragon opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted.

_I grow tired of this two-leg talk. Arya is either coming with us to find this man, or not. I did not "persuade" Nasuada for fun, I believe that catching him is the only chance we have to curing whatever ailment or curse he has concocted. A dragon, an elf and a half-elf rider. We are more than a match for him, shade or not. Now are you coming Arya, or not._

"I guess you have _persuaded_ me, Saphira. I will come with you."

"Then we'll leave today… unless you have important business of some sort?"

"Nothing that can't wait until my return. I must talk with the my kith who still reside in the city. They will not wish me to go, but I shall convince them. They remain here only for me, they shall be glad to return to Du Weldenvarden, I think." She turned to the door and made to leave, Eragon still surveying the city out of the window, when a fluttering noise caused her to turn back.

Blagden sat on his outstretched hand, cocking his head. Arya could see Eragon was surprised at his appearance and his readiness to perch his significant weight on anyone. Memories of him perched on her mother's shoulder, or sat on her own arm or hand back in Ellesmera, flowed into her mind. She realised the he was possibly the last real link she had to her mother.

He croaked, and then spoke to Eragon.

"More of a colour." Then he jumped off his hand and glided out of the open window. Arya sighed.

"He's spent the last week flying round the city, annoying pigeons and listening in on people's conversations… they've begun to call him The White Demon. He has a tendency to answer back…" she considered his words. "A colour… he could mean anything, as usual. His riddles sometimes become clearer with time. Come, I'm sure you also have things you need to tend to."

He nodded, and left the room to reorganise his luggage and procure fresh supplies.


	6. Thoughts Of Eternity

Firstly I must apologise for my absence. Over the past month and a bit I've been extremely busy, but I've come to realise writing helps to calm me when the world seems to be collapsing… I'm also working on an original book, so I'm getting back into the flow now.

Secondly, I should point out (as someone has commented to me about it) that if you're looking for a story containing you-know-what you're in the wrong place; this will not contain _that_ kind of mature content. The rating is for the purposes of violence and graphic detail. Better safe than sorry.

Thirdly, I would like to make it clear I'm aware my writing tends to wander, fluctuate significantly in style and quality, contain errors both grammatical and sometimes structural, and ignore specific accents and other symbols in names. I intend, if this is ever "finished", to clean much of this up.

Now, without further ado, it's time for a new chapter. Bit of Eragon PoV in here.

The thick smell of wood-smoke filled the clearing as the sun lowered towards a pink-tinted horizon. A full day passed since leaving the capital without much of significance happening, but then early into the second day of their journey the weather took a bad turn. A rolling, boiling mass of cloud soon turned to thunder and strong winds, and several hours of freezing rain, fork lightning and erratic gusts sapped Saphira's considerable strength.

When the clouds broke in the middle of the afternoon to reveal a glorious clear sky behind and rolling hills of forests turning gold and red as the year waned, both Eragon and Arya insisted they stop for the night to allow Saphira to rest. Despite her complaints her passengers were insistent, and they set down on a hillside not far from the Ramr river.

In spite of her earlier repeated opposition Saphira was already curled around half of the clearing they'd settled in, fast asleep. The occasional gentle breeze showered her form with a spectrum of fallen leaves.

As the sun gradually disappeared and night began to creep into the sky, a cluster of lights further along the river flared up. The indistinct and distant shapes of buildings suggested a small town or large village along the Ramr, passing through the brief period of lit twilight before the townspeople doused the lamps and retired. Observing this sight, a smile graced Arya's face.

Eragon observered her quizzically, until she deigned to explain.

"I'm thinking of the people" She spoke "who now live free of tyranny and fear. Who no longer have to worry about invaders attacking them, or their own ruler taking them to war far away. They can mourn for those who they have lost, but then they can live. This land will see peace and prosperity that it has not in centuries."

"And yet" countered Eragon "the price was so great."

"I have learnt many things about the world we live in throughout my life through simple observance, Eragon. One of them is the balance of the world. It seems that for every good thing a good person does, there will always be a bad person doing a bad thing. Sometimes the actions are performed by the same person. Do not forget that to many you can appear a heroic saviour, and at the same time to others be a merciless murderer. It's all a matter of perspective. Many people in this conflict could not help which side they ended up on. In every great struggle there are unfortunate losses. Sometimes you just need to focus on your goal to prevent yourself going mad."

"Other times, like now, the main struggle is over, and you begin to worry that you made a wrong choice, so take comfort in this Eragon; what you have done is a great thing. What _we all _have done is a great thing. Do not torment yourself with past choices. They have been made and cannot be altered."

He laughed.

"I think you're misunderstanding my feelings. I always was and remain sure that what I did was right. It just sickens me sometimes to think of the suffering and death that the war caused."

Silence reigned for an immeseasurable amount of time, and slowly the sky turned from a pink to a darker mauve, and on to a deep violet and then blackness. Eragon laid back against the slightly damp grass and measured time by the wheeling of the stars. Unbidden, lines of an elvish writing on the subject of stars passed through his head. The theories that people had had before him, ideas that would have been dismissed by many as madness; that they were rifts in reality through which nothingness shined, or some kind of reflection of the surface of the world in the sky, or that they were balls of fire much like the sun, not small but so very far away.

His apprehension of his future life was tempered by the knowledge that however long he should live, it would be in peace, and there would always be new things to learn, to see, and to experience, some of which no others had known, or seen, or experienced before.

But then every time he relaxed, the undercurrent of loss and pain would return. It would return because of her.

He shifted his head to view Arya. Her head rested on a bundle that served as a pillow, and her eyes too were open, but her breathing was much to slow for her to be consciously aware.

He had no doubt that once again she walked through her dreams.

She twitched, one of her hands clenching to a fist at her side.

Once again she walked through her nightmares.

And he vowed there, to himself when there was no-one else to listen, that he would give everything to save her. If the time came, he would give his life if she was willing. Because despite everything he'd achieved and everything he'd lost, she deserved life more.


	7. A Dragon's View

_Awake Eragon. Awake! It is time we should leave!_

Eragon gasped as his waking dreams slipped away and consciousness replaced them. Saphira's head was angled above him, her right eye peering at him urgently.

_You are almost impossible to wake sometimes, little one. I was close to biting you and shaking you like a sheep. The sun has been risen some time, and we must be off. I expected you or Arya would wake me, but I awoke of my own accord to find you both sleeping so deep it could be mistaken for hibernation._

He chuckled as he pushed her away from him, his hand on her jaw, and sat up. He stretched and stood, walking over to where Arya lay and peering at her. Smiling, he clicked his fingers in front of her face, only for her to not even flinch.

He risked prodding her cheek, and instantly her arm shot up, her hand grasping tightly round his throat and her eyes opening almost unnaturally wide as she threw her weight forwards, slamming him to the ground in a lightning-quick exchange of positions.

On the other side of the clearing, Saphira raised her head, snorted in amusement, and went back to rubbing her snout on her foreleg.

Arya released his throat rather jerkily, and stood back from him, now offering her hand to lift him up.

"Never wake me like that again." She muttered as he thanked her for lifting him up. "I have grown paranoid in the past few weeks…"

Eragon coughed and rubbed at his throat, prompting a slight silence from Arya, before she apologised seemingly as if she'd only just remembered it was courtesy to do so after hurting someone accidentally.

She turned away from him towards Saphira's saddlebags, then suddenly froze, her chest rising from an intake of breath. Her hand shot to her hip and she doubled over at the waist, her other hand pressed against her forehead.

"Arya! Arya!" spoke Eragon, urgently. "Are you alright."

Slowly she sunk to her knees and crouched in the damp grass, breathing rapidly. He approached her and laid a comforting hand gently on her shoulder.

"I am fine, Eragon. Please, put Saphira's saddle on, I'll be fine. I just need to rest a bit more… I'm a little dizzy." She finished, and with that vomited slightly. He didn't leave her side, and instead regarded her with wary eyes until she made contact with them. He was surprised, then, when she gently pushed him away, and stood back up again.

"It is over. Whatever is was… I was hungry but no longer, which is hardly surprising." She muttered, with a wry smile, as she continued to Saphira's saddlebags and began to heft them onto the dragon's back. Eragon helped secure the saddle and their supplies to Saphira, used magic to douse the embers of the previous night's campfire, and accepted Arya's outstretched hand to lift him onto their mounts back.

Saphira crouched in anticipation, then pounced like a cat, only bringing her wings down when it looked like she was about to crash back into the trees.

Lifting her great body and her luggage into the air, she growled happily.

_It is warm and there is only a slight breeze. Today is perfect weather for flying. You should share it with me, little one._

Eragon smiled and let his mind merge with hers, their vision and touch becoming as one until it was his wings that drove them onwards, and his eyes that saw the startled villagers of the town they'd noticed last night look up and shout.

"It's Shadeslayer! Kingkiller!" Cried a man.

"Look at the size of that dragon!" Gasped a surprised woman, as her 2 startled children looked up into the sky, eyes wide and startled. With Saphira's superior vision, he could make out almost every strand of hair on their heads, the movement of their pupils as their eyes tracked the dragon through the sky. The depth of Saphira's vision was amazing.

"Bah, nothin' but a traitor to his own kind an' a fancy magic-using bastard. In 20 years time, I bet it'll be 'im on the throne, opressin' us. They're all the same, these Elves and Sorcerers and Magicians, just you see. At least Galbatorix kept the Urgals from runnin' rampant over our land, now e's gone and sided with them too…" Muttered a rather elderly man, who barely looked up from a basket he was weaving before continuing on his rant. Some of the other villagers rolled their eyes and ignored him, while others seemed to agree.

It made Eragon feel uneasy. If the people didn't trust in him, didn't trust that he was happy to leave well alone, and didn't trust in the strength of Nasuada's leadership, there could be troubling times ahead.

Before he could think much more on the subject, however, the town was long gone behind them, a breeze from the south powering Saphira forwards and enhancing her progress.

As they approached Gil'ead and the lake Isenstar the terrain grew lusher and the hills and valleys became thick forests along the river, giving way to plains and farmland with small villages a few leagues behind. Saphira had dominant control over her vision, and it amazed Eragon how much her eyes darted around during flight, seemingly on a constant instinctual hunt for prey. She couldn't resist noticing every deer in the woods, ever wild sheep or goat or oxen near the river, even rabbits and small birds didn't escape her gaze.

They passed over Isenstar, which was almost twice as long as Palancar valley and a good 4 times as wide, and Eragon was transfixed by the ripples and waves created by the gusts over the surface. Peaks and troughs of water and foamy white crests adorning a dark and seemingly bottomless mass of water, a sea trapped by the land.

Soon the flickering of Saphira's eyes across the turbulent water, combined with her movements in the air, began to make him feel queasy with a combination of sea and air sickness, forcing him to return to his own body.

He blinked at the sudden change in colour and light as his eyes became his own again, and became aware of just how long his body had been frozen in an entranced state while he flew with Saphira. His legs ached where the straps held him to the saddle, his face was cold and lips chapped by the chill wind, and his back had a pressure on it which, upon further inspection, turned out to be Arya, who seemed to have fallen asleep pressed heavily against his back.

He blushed at the feeling of her body pressed so hard against his, but Saphira was more concerned with her state.

_She's slept a lot, and she's eaten nothing today. Make sure she eats something, even if you have to force her. I don't like this… she has good days and bad days, but I still get the feeling that the more time passes the less of her we seem to have left. She is important to the future of this land. Take good care of her, little one…_

_ Don't worry Saphira, you know that I'm doing everything I can. We both are, that's why were here and going where we are going._

_ Indeed, but will it be enough? I suppose only time will tell. Look, we are passing over the fringes of Du Weldenvarden. We should be able to see the coast soon._

Indeed Eragon saw that they were passing over the very western edge of the great forest, with its huge bulk flowing as far as the eye could see (and hundreds of leagues further) to the right, giving way to plains just on their left. Ahead the treeline also curved and diminished, and Eragon knew that between the edge of the forest there was only a short distance further, maybe an hour at most on dragonback, before they reached the frigid northern bay and Ceunon which rested precariously on the edge of humanity.

There, just maybe, they would discover the identity of this man who had seemed dead. Who's body had vanished and who had sprung back to life weeks of travel by foot away, only to steal trinkets from a magical emporium.

Maybe, if they could find out who he was and what he wanted, they could help Arya.

He twisted slightly to see her face rested against the back of his shoulder, her eyes open and unseeing, and her face worryingly pale.

There was still time for them to find a cure, surely.

That was, if a cure existed.


	8. The Voice

As the night fell and the scenery became harder to distinguish the weather conditions changed.

At first is had seemed they would reach their destination in record time, the strong warm breeze from the south urging them on, however not long after dusk the wind change direction, now blowing up a frigid gust from the far north west. Almost as if some god or forgotten power wished for them to not reach Ceunon, they began to drift further off course.

Saphira found it difficult battering against constant gusts and Eragon wrapped himself and Arya in thick blankets, despite magic to shield them from most of the ill effects of the wind, to save them from the worst of the chill.

Arya could only remember a few indistinct and hazy memories of the journey, after being woken by Eragon shortly before nightfall. She would drift between dreams and reality, both seeming harsh, cold and unforgiving. Slowly she felt as though she was being consumed.

It was a relief then, when the warming sun rose and the wind abated. A relief tempered by the fact they were still a good half-hour of flight from Ceunon.

Slowly the long narrow fjord which broke around the Spine came into view, a large bustling port town visible from the morning smoke and a blur of buildings. On the other side the Spine curved to the west, but to the north it fractured into islands and let the fjord join the sea. There was nobody out there, except whalers and those who foraged for the seithr plant.

Saphira took a deep rumbling breath underneath them, vibrating with a strange hum.

_I smell smoke, cooking meat, warmth, things which all dragons can smell well. _She grinned.

_You have flown well, skulblaka. I am sure there will be plenty of food for you when we land. _Replied Arya, still rather sleepy.

They approached the town and Saphira opened out her wings and entered a glide, gently touching down on the slope of a hill less than half a league from one of the main gates. At the top of the hill was a lone copse of trees, most of the land around either farmland or relatively barren. These lands were further north even than Carvahall, and even in summer they tended to get weather-beaten and chilly without the shielding effect of the mountains.

The trees caught Arya's eye, or specifically one of the trees in particular.

In the centre of the cops was a great elm, larger than most of the others around it, and once proud and strong.

The leaves hung limp and brown.

Autumn had begun to set in on the other trees which made up the crown of green, giving it exotic tints of gold, yellow and orange, but this once great and strong giant was wilting under some unseen and inevitable illness.

A chill hit her spine, and she snapped her eyes away to see that Eragon had already climbed off of Saphira's back and was watching her, as usual, with a note of concern upon his features.

"I'm fine." She insisted, before he could speak, and untied herself from the saddle before sliding off the dragon's side and attacking the knots ferociously, if only to give her something to do. Something to take her mind off the look he gave her.

"I didn't even say anything." He spoke quietly, still not moving.

She lifted the saddle off and planted it on the ground.

Saphira sighed with relief and rolled her great shoulders before stretching up like a cat.

"You're not going to tell me are you." He tried a different tactic.

"Tell you what?" She muttered back, trying not to snap.

"What's wrong."

"I did tell you. Nothing is wrong. I'm fine. You worry about me too much, what has happened has happened and cannot be undone, it can only be cured. That is why we are here, is it not? To find the next clue."

"You're acting very out of character. You sleep all the time. You snap between wide awake and tired. You alternate between fever-like temperatures and the deathly coldness of a corpse. You've not eaten in a day, at least. You are not well, Arya, and you know it. You're worse than before, much worse. And you're getting worse every day." He insisted, holding her arm to prevent her from distracting herself with another task.

"I've worried about you up to now, and I'll still worry about you from now on. Why should the situation getting _worse_ change that? Now, are you going to tell me what's wrong? Please?"

She closed her eyes and breathed a deep calming sigh tilting her head back. A few seconds passed. Her unbound hair floated behind her lightly in the breeze like some sort of veil.

"Something is killing me." She simply said. "Something wants to kill me, and is enjoying doing it. I don't know what, I don't know why, I don't know how. But it is."

He frowned at her in confusion.

"Not just the wound. A **thing**. It talks to me while I sleep. It begs for me to relinquish the power of my body. It mutters and laughs, cackles at me. It taunts me, points out my every flaw and weakness like some sort of disturbed and sadistic conscience."

"Why haven't you told me this before?" He shouted, unsure whether to be angry with her, or just to accept it and add it to the list of problems.

She simply smirked, and with a shrug mumbled "You'd think I'd gone mad". And with that she lifted the pack she had stored in the saddlebags and set off down the hill towards the gate with a slight limp.

Eragon patted Saphira's snout gently.

_I shall hunt, I think. I will tell you when I have returned. _She told him, then lifted her huge mass into the air with pumping wings.

Eragon just shook his head and jogged down the hill after Arya.

"I'll never understand you, you know. I never quite did, and I never think I will."

She smiled sadly back at him.

"I don't think I understand myself any more."


	9. A Morning In Ceunon

In the early morning light, Ceunon appeared one of the more tranquil and quiet cities of the Empire, although as the day progressed it would no doubt get livelier. At this time there were few people in the streets, only a handful of fisherman heading down to the docks, a beggar, and the gate guards who muttered respectfully as Arya and Eragon made their way onto the large, cobbled, road.

The time meant that few had seen Saphira flying near the city earlier, and as such the usual throng of people attempting to catch a glimpse of Eragon Kingkiller was absent. A fisherman spotted them and jogged off down the road with renewed vigour, presumably to find his colleagues, and a woman who was setting up a number of signs and displays outside of a clothing shop rushed back indoors.

Arya had long learnt to ignore this kind of behaviour, having travelled among Men and Dwarves for decades, but still couldn't shake the feeling of concern that perhaps the townsfolk had rushed away that little bit _too_ quickly. In time Eragon stopped outside a large half-timber building with a respectful frontage and wide, smooth glass windows, and rapped on the door heavily with his knuckles. In the window nearest to the doorway sat a wooden tablet bearing the words "We are closed, come back later!"

Obviously the residence of a relatively wealthy and prominent merchant but not of one who wished the show off, the door was opened by a girl who was, by Arya's casual reckoning, maybe a year or so younger than Eragon.

"The door _quite clearly_ states that we're not yet op- oh…" The young woman froze as the door pulled fully open leaving Eragon directly in her face. Her eyes darted between him and Arya rapidly, a look of surprise and embarrassment fleeting across her features before she composed herself somewhat, curtsied, and welcomed them inside.

"Father said we should be expecting them. He's still in bed; he blames his age, as usual." She shook her head, but a smile on her face showed she meant no offence. "I was just making him breakfast. I usually take it up to him about now, and then we'd open up in an hour or so."

"Well no need to get him up just yet if he'd rather not, we can wait." assured Eragon. The girl laughed.

"Oh I'm quite sure he'll insist on getting dressed and coming down to talk as soon as possible. He also has something else to show you, or so he was saying the other day." And with that, the girl disappeared up the stairs with a tray of food and tea. "Oh, and help yourself if you want anything!" came the shout a few seconds later.

"His daughter?" asked Arya. Eragon nodded.

"Hared's wife died when their daughter, Kels, was very young… when I was last here, he was always talking about how he relies on her to keep him going, and he isn't as young as he used to be, but the poor man doesn't actually know how old he is. He was orphaned and… well… the whole story is quite an epic to tell. He'll probably insist on telling you." He explained, with a slight smirk. Arya smiled, pouring herself a boiling hot mug of tea.

"I'm sure I'll look forwards to it" she muttered, only slightly sarcastically, and settled into a chair. The kitchen was quite small, but warm and cosy. Various paintings and even an extravagant tapestry hung around the walls along with the usual pots and pans, a significant herb and spice rack, and a few other indistinguishable items.

Through an open door at the back of the kitchen she could see there was a small dining area joined with a half-study-half-library. They'd entered the kitchen through a cramped hallway where the flight of stone stairs lead upwards to the rest of their house. The door on the right of the hallway opened into the much more significant portion of the property downstairs; the shop itself.

From what Arya had seen most of the rooms internally gave the same impression as the outside of the building; that of the house of a man not afraid of making it comfortable, maybe even stylish, as long as it wasn't overly extravagant.

In due time, the noise of talking travelled down the stairs and Hared hobbled into the kitchen, Kels behind him and once again appearing slightly embarrassed. To Arya's slight surprise, he initiated the traditional Elven greeting with her and Eragon in turn, also adding the extra line to show his respect.

Despite being slightly stooped over, he stood well over 6 foot and appeared to be a man who was once built not unlike an ox. His hair was a fair blonde faded to grey and he sported a large beard, braided around the edges almost in a Dwarven fashion. His eyes were a bright blue and possessed the twinkle of intelligence and eccentricity that Arya recognised from many others, Jeod, Orrin, and Brom, to name but a few. This was in stark contrast to his daughter, whose hair and eyes was dark brown, and whose overall built was rather slim, although she seemed to have inherited some of her father's height, and the same aura of intelligence.

Hared settled into the chair opposite Arya, next to the kitchen fireplace, and placed his hands onto his temples.

"Well. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, of course, but these circumstances leave much to be desired." He spoke in a deep voice with the usual inflection of the people of the northern coast. Arya nodded in agreement, and was about to reply when he spoke again. "Anyway, usually I'm a rather roundabout man, and, at least here in Ceunon, I have a renowned difficulty with getting my point across quickly and understandably. That is to say that I'm prone to losing track of where I was in a conversation, of making nonsensical comparisons and subject changes, and generally letting my thoughts float all over the place until they come out of my mouth leaving everyone confused, including me, of course, and what with my age I can't help but think it's got worse. I read something in a-"

At this point Kels coughed lightly, a wry smile on her face, and Hared stopped and blinked once.

"Oh. I appear to have made my point very obvious, and that would be a first. All right, I'll say what I have to say and then I'll shut up until either of the two of you ask me questions, as I think that's the best way of doing it."

"A few days ago, I received a message from one of my business partners, as it were. A man in Kuasta, a healer, who practices the lower levels of magic to the best of his ability. He is neither rich, nor powerful, nor particularly well known, but among the sailors there he is appreciated for his abilities. Many an ailment or injury has been healed, if only in part, by his skills, and many an amputation has been averted, if you listen to all the tales."

"Anyway, to get back to the story, he sent me this letter concerning someone who broke into his house and stole several magic trinkets of his, nothing of world-changing importance but of significant sentimental value to him, as well as actual value in his line of work."

"I know not his reasons, and there was much he neglected to explain, but the fact he sent me this letter specifically with a warning means something. I'm convinced there must be something he has not told me. It is a shame, really, the letter was written almost 4 months ago and yet arrived only a week or so late. If it'd arrived before our little incident I would have made sure to protect the shop a little more."

He slowly climbed out of his chair and picked up the poker next to the fire, pushing back the charred lumps of wood and tossing another couple on, causing a fountain of embers to dance up the chimney.

"So several months ago, a man who you know experienced the exact same style burglary as you recently, and decided to warn you about it, but did not give you any information whatsoever about why he would decide to warn you?" Queried Eragon.

"Exactly so. And as a result, call me sceptical, but I believe he may have something to hide. I see no specific reason why he'd choose personally to warn me unless he knew more than he has told me."

"Well we don't have any other leads to follow up. We may have to travel to Kuasta and find this man." Eragon sighed. "I've got this horrible feeling of inevitability… that everywhere we go someone will simply point us in the direction of somewhere else on the other side of Alagaesia."

"Well, statistically speaking, you must be getting closer each time. Not that that's much consolation, of course, what with your current state." He added quickly, smiling sadly at Arya. "I have an extensive library of the bizarre, rare, and interesting things of this world, be they people, spells, places, events, animals, plants, or other phenomena, but I'm sure no matter how extensive my library is it must pale in comparison to the vast knowledge your races possesses, Lady Arya. Even so, know that none of what I have read or seen would explain the ailment from which you suffer. I am sorry." He bowed his head slightly.

"Please, you have already helped us enough and offered to give us hospitality here, and it is nobody's fault that I suffer from this ailment but my own, it would seem. As long as there is the hope of even an explanation Eragon and I shall pursue it. We cannot dare to abandon hope."

The room fell silent except for the crackling of burning bark and Eragon absentmindedly tapping his foot on the stone floor. After a while, Hared excused himself to go and open the shop, explaining that business was rare and he had a good feeling about today, and Kels busied herself with several pieces of housework, leaving Eragon and Arya sat in the warm kitchen nursing mugs of hot tea and contemplating their next move.

Kuasta was quite a journey, especially with the mountains taken into account, and if the wind remained strong it could take them significant time to cross the Spine. They both agreed Saphira needed to rest and regain her strength, but Eragon refused to wait too long, insisting to Arya that every day that Saphira rested was a day that Arya was going to grow weaker.

Reluctantly, she had to agree. There was no sense in keeping up the pretence of improvement, especially not to Eragon, when it was quite clear to both of them that the opposite was true; not every day would be painful, and not every night would be filled with nightmares, but every morning there _was_ a bit more of her that she couldn't feel.

There was no doubt that it was worsening, and if anything the lack of pain was more disturbing than if it had been painful.

She placed a hand on her bare skin and closed her eyes, feeling the burning heat trace patterns on her palm, and yet feeling nothing, no pressure, no temperature, and no pain, from her body.

Silently, inside her head, she wept.


End file.
